We had a couple of friends (literally – one married couple) over for dinner Saturday night. I’m hanging out in the kitchen talking to the husband, the wives are in the family room chatting about something on the couch. We wander into the family room to be social. “Tell neighbor wife what you wrote on the card for my flowers,” my wife tells me. “The bath for my help lies where Cupid found new fire, my mistress’ eyes.” I get a blank stare from neighbor wife. “That’s the closing couplet from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 153.” “This is the kinds of stuff I get,” says my wife. “Underneath that he wrote You’re my everything. THAT, I understood. But I’m always getting these Shakespeare things. What did you get?” Neighbor wife turns to her husband and says, “Nothing.” Mind you, the husband is your classic working man, general contractor, spends his days framing out houses and his nights brewing his own beer. When he’s not wearing a flannel shirt it’s only because his wife made him dress up to go out somewhere. I love the guy, and not just because I appreciate a good beer. He’s a great guy, a good friend. And I’m suddenly getting him in trouble because I’m quoting Shakespeare on Valentine’s presents. 20+ years ago that would have gotten me stuffed into my locker in high school.
